Zombieland: Survival
by FantasyFoSho
Summary: Columbus and the gang are headed north in search of a zombie-free land. By north, I mean Canada. Mischief and mayhem are encountered along the way. Takes place right after the events of the movie.
1. Chapter 1: Bounty Paper Towels

**Disclaimer: I do not own the title Zombieland or the places associated with it. Uh, what else… Yada Yada?**

**Chapter 1: Of Bounty and Men**

The sun still shone brightly, despite the grim state of the world. Its golden rays caressed the rolling hills yonder, bathing all living life forms in soft, fuzzy warmth. Unfortunately, there were _no _living life forms anymore. In these hills-where in the past gophers played, rabbits jumped about, and furries had their freaky campfires- there was nothing… Nothing but diseased, brain-eating zombies.

Further inland, near Waco, Texas, a night-black SUV barrelled down the freeway of survivor-named Route 101. Within, were four people; Columbus—myself, Wichita—a really beautiful girl whom I've recently been attracted to, Little Rock—the latter's little sister, and Tallahassee—a big guy in a snakeskin suit whose main job is to kick some serious wholesale zombie ass. Well that _was_ his job. From recent events, I've been worried.

"Hey, Tallahassee," I call from the back seat. Little Rock sat next to me, looking pissed off as usual. I didn't blame her. For the first time ever, Tallahassee was driving like an old woman fearing for an apparent heart attack. I swear, if a turtle were walking right next to us right now, it could circle 'round the world and overtake us... Twice.

"You mind going a bit faster?" I ask.

"Calm down." was his reply. That's it. No 'shut the hell up, you prick' or anything like that. Just… Calm down. Something was up.

Ever since he ate that twinky, Tallahassee's softened up. Well, not so much, but he no longer kicks my butt every five minutes. It;s a bit longer now, but honestly, I'm not counting. And now that I mention it, his _I'm pissed off so I'll just screw with Columbus_ moment has long been overdue-though you won't find any complaints here. Perhaps it's just the fact that we're really meshing together as a family now or maybe he just doesn't care anymore. Either way, I'm still hoping he'll be able to save our butts at any given moment. I don't know how far we'd get without him. Not very far, I can assure.

At the moment, we were driving around Waco, having just left our snug little home—well, Bill Murray's snug little home which wasn't so little—and were driving away as far as our 'borrowed' car could take us. The state was getting pretty dangerous. Zombies were massing from all directions to form some sort of super horde. It was like _Dawn of the Dead_ without the walking dead people. Contrary to popular belief, these zombies aren't really dead. They were just messed up normal folks like you and me with a craving for human flesh. Not that I'd prefer either one, though. Sometimes I wish these things would just die. Then maybe our lives could be normal again. But part of me wants them to stay around, because, as dangerous as they are, it's fun messing around with them. In a place like Zombieland, you need something to do, right? Whoa, I must be turning into Tallahassee… It's too bad my ass-kicking abilities are sub-par at best. What can I say? I'm more of the '_I'm going to survive so screw you I'm outta here' _kind of guy. Not so much now. I've got people I need to protect.

"Well, would you look at that…" I hear Tallahassee mutter, wrenching me from my thoughts.

Following his lead, I stare out the window, my mouth forming a small _o _as I did. A giant mass of zombies were parading across those dead hills to the left of our car. They seem to be heading towards the direction we were driving from. That Pacific Playland stint must have attracted them. Just like my good ol' _Left 4 Dead _game, these zombies seemed to be attracted to sounds and bright lights. They must have seen our little night-party from afar and hurried to join us. Something to take note of. I should probably add that to my list of rules: Never carry loud, shiny objects. Of course, this rule wouldn't apply if your loud shiny object is a gun. Or a sword. Or any other zombie-killing tool. Actually, this rule wouldn't apply to many things. In fact, perhaps the only bright, shiny objects worth mentioning are those that come out of the Disney Store, which I come to wonder why anybody shops there in the first place. I never really got the charm of those spinning, light up toys or talking Buzz Lightyear action figures. I guess as a kid, I was more of a hands-on video gamer person. I didn't play with toys much, thanks to my giant list of phobias, many of which were actually sparked by my many unpleasant experiences as a toddler. The fact that my family was pretty messed, and that my childhood was filled with foggy memories of some old lady's teeth didn't help either. Though the latter may explain my fear of dentures.

"What are you doing?" I hear Wichita say in front of me. I look up, meeting her eyes.

"Oh, uh you know… Just writing in my rulebook," I respond, a sheepish smile on my face. I think I'm blushing. Hopefully not, that'd be embarassing. "Gotta stay up-to-date on the rules."

"The rules," She echoes, laughing. She extends her hand, showing me her palm. "Let me see that."

Reluctantly, I hand her my trusty book of rules. She opens it and begins flipping through my notes.

"Rule Number 12: Bounty Paper Towels," She reads, her eyebrows arching. "Nothing like good ol' bounty to keep yourself sanitary." She looks up at me, the expression of what-the-hell? clearly visible on her finely sculpted face. "Is this for real?_"_

"Yes it is." I reply, defiantly.

I reach into my pack and rummage through its contents, extracting a roll of Bounty. "These things are incredible." I begin, ready to start up my signature Bounty Adoration Speech. "They're compact, durable, light, very absorbent… They wipe surfaces smoothly, are better than the leading brand, very strong, doesn't have an expiration date…" I can't say for how long I went on about the usefulness of Bounty, but I'll give you a hint. A long time. Eventually, Wichita got annoyed and turned away. I of course, kept going, oblivious to the world beyond Bounty paper towels.

"Can you keep it quiet back there?" Tallahassee shouts, distractedly. "I'm trying to focus."

I laughed. I had too. Since when did Tallahassee focus on anything but getting a Twinky? Wait a minute…

"So…" I say cautiously. If I wanted answers, I had to be careful of what I said. I needed to beat around the bush. Weed out my prey. Lure him into my trap of psychological awesomeness. "Where are we going?" I blurted. Oh, damn. So much for that plan. Surprisingly, Tallahassee didn't go into a hissy fit and get all defensive about him-self. Not that he does often. He's just so mysterious. In fact, all of us could be considered mysterious. We knew almost nothing about each other outside of the few weeks we've been together. The less we know, the better, I guess.

"We," Tallahassee begins, like a speaker about to embark on the world's longest harangue ever. "Are going to Canada." I waited for his continuation. None came. That was anti-climatic. Wait, what? Canada?

"Why Canada?" I ask. From the corner of my sight, I could see Little Rock rolling her eyes and Wichita smirking. Clearly I was missing something.

"Have you ever heard of the movie, I Am Legend?"

"That post-apocalyptic movie thing, starring Will Smith?" I inquire, clueless as to what this had to do with anything.

"Yes, that. In the movie, the infection can't survive in the cold."

Oh, now I was starting to catch on. "So that's why you want us to go to Canada!" I exclaim. It was brilliant. The thought of a place with more survivors… Maybe hope wasn't lost after all. Maybe the human race wasn't doomed. Maybe-

"Well actually," He said in a manner of corrected-ness, " I just figured that due to the coldness of the Canadian climate, their Twinkies might last longer."

So this _was_ about Twinkies after all, and not about our survival. Well, it's Tallahassee. Go figure. I had an urge to face-palm myself, but refrained from doing so. Didn't want Wichita to think I was into the whole 'inflicting pain to myself' business. Twinkies or not, I actually felt that going to Canada would really be a good idea. It may not have been his true intention, but Tallahassee may be right. What if the Infection didn't survive the cold? What if it was totally zombie-free? Only one way to find out, to Canada it is, then.

**Short chapter. This is my first Zombieland fanfic and I hope I can write all of the characters… Well… In character. This first chapter is written in the first-person point of view of Columbus, though I may decide to take multiple points of views in later chapters. This was just the beginning and I hope you look it. It may seem boring at first but I assure you, it will improve! (Hopefully!)**


	2. Chapter 2: A Little Talking Never Hurt

**Had a bit of a 'tense' problem in the first chapter. Don't worry, I believe I've rectified it in this one.**

**Chapter 2: A Little Talking Never Hurt**

It was around half an hour past midnight when I awoke to the sounds of rattling and shaking. The car shook with unyielding force, knocking me aside into Little Rock, who by the way is a really sound sleeper. Our collision causes her to jump out of her seat, banging her head against the roof of the SUV. I shake my head, despite the rowdy awakening. She wonders what it is with me and seatbelts. Well, now she knows. Taking my mind off towards the event at hand, I peer out of the SUV's tinted window. It was hard to see due to the shading of the night sky, but from what my eyes could make out, we were still on the road. What's causing the bumping then? I look towards Wichita, though she's still asleep as well. I guess it runs in the family. I turn towards Tallahassee, but, before I can say anything, he speaks.

"Don't be so jumpy." He says, a crooked smile on his face.

"_Jumpy!_" I shout, incredulously. "The car is shaking! Can't you feel it?"

"Yeah, I can!"

"Well then, what do you think it is?"

"Take a look at the ground and you'll find out."

I do so and quickly verify the source of the shaking. I should have known. Bodies. Lots of dead bodies. I shudder, the bristles of hair on my skin spiking up to lethal points. The bodies were mutilated, torn to shreds by the zombies. Children, adults, old people, fat people… They had all been eaten, spit out, ripped…

"I know that zombies aren't the friendliest creatures around but… How could they do something like this?" I say, shaking my head in disgust.

"Stupid spit-fuck says what?" Tallahassee remarks with scrutiny. "Those _are_ zombies."

"Wait-What?" I look again. Tallahassee was right. They _are_ zombies. Dead zombies, that is. But how did they get there? They don't look too starved to me… As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I knew. Those holes, which I initially mistook for skin ripped to shred by zombies, were _bullet holes_. There were more survivors! We weren't the only ones.

"Tallahassee! You know what this means?" I was bubbling with excitement. "There's—"  
"Wrong again."  
"But I didn't finish."  
"So?"  
"So… Anyways-"  
"Wrong."  
"For god sakes, let me finish!"  
"I already know."  
"That there are survivors?"  
"No."  
"What, then?"  
"Those survivors are dead."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What do you mean, dead?" This was unfathomable. How could they die? They killed all of these zombies… They packed some massive firepower…

"They're dead, because the zombies got them."  
"What? But look what they did t—"  
"Wait for it."  
"Wait for wh—" _Bump!_ The SUV shook again.  
"There's your answer." He said, grimly.

I looked once again out of the window. Where the zombies used to be, was now filled with the bodies of dozens of survivors—or… non-survivors, I guess—lying on the road in pools of their own blood. Next to them were even more bodies of dead zombies. They died fighting. I felt like shedding a tear.

"Ohio, what's going on?" I hear Wichita say, the tiredness in her voice, apparent. "What's with all the shaking?"

At the sound of her speaking, I quickly hide the tears. Actually, there were never any tears. Yeah.

"We-uh found survivors."  
"Where?"  
"Outside."

I watch as she turns her head to look outside her own window.

"Those people are dead." Was all she said.  
"Huh?"  
"Those people are dead." She repeats.  
"Yeah, I know."  
"You said there were survivors."  
"Right. My bad." Who would've known that Wichita was a grammar Nazi?

It did not seem as if she was troubled by this. And neither should I. Over the course of a few weeks, we have watched as nearly the entire population of the world mutated into disgusting, pus-ridden, flesh-eating, groaning, zombie freaks. We've both seen people die at the hands of these things. Seeing that, as much as I would wish to "_un-_see" it, has made us tough. Well, at least it made Wichita tough. I'm still afraid of… babies and loads of other unpleasant things like, Porto-potties. Yuck.

"So…" I begin, looking to start a conversation. "Think we'll find someone famous? You know… other than Bill Murray?"

"Oh, you mean that guy that you ruthlessly murdered?" It was Little Rock, who'd finally woken up.  
"I did _not_ ruthlessly murder him." I protest. "I _accidentally _murdered him."  
"Like that makes a difference." She rolls her eyes.  
"It does so make a difference. One could get me a death penalty. The other, won't."

I could hear Wichita giggling in her seat, though her face wasn't turned towards me. Good. No more boring monotonous driving.

Just before awkward silence mode kicks in, Tallahassee answers my question. "You know," He begins. "I actually think we might find someone famous."

"Like who?" Wichita asks.  
"Like, Simon Cowell. He's Canadian right?"  
"Actually, he's British," I chime.  
"Aren't they the same thing?" Says Tallahassee, confused.  
"Actually, no. Canada used to be considered _Britain's Little Brother _but recent events—"  
"Yeah, yeah," Tallahassee says, "No need to tell us the entire history of Canada, no matter how interesting it is."  
"I actually wasn't going to tell you the entire history, I was—"  
"Are you being a smart-ass?"  
"No sir."

Again, I hear Wichita laugh along with her sister. We were once again having fun. Though the funny thing was, that whole conversation started out with a bunch of dead bodies, right after midnight. That's how messed up all of our sleeping patterns were. That's how messed up _we _were. But, being messed up wasn't really unusual in Zombieland, now was it?

**Kinda like a filler chapter. I just wanted to try my hand at them reacting to each other. Hopefully it went well. Next chapter may take a while to complete, but stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3: Screwed

Chapter 3: Screwed

The car begins shaking again, waking me up once more from my deep, pleasant slumber. I shake my head, groaning. With the sleeve of my striped polyester sweater, I wipe off the small trail of saliva dripping off my chin.

"Columbus, stop it!" I hear Wichita whine. I look at her, wondering if she were drunk. Her eyes were closed, and she had this goofy smile on her face. The car shook again.

"That's not me." I explain.

_Rumble!_ More shaking. Something's not right. We aren't moving. The car had been parked for the night in the parking lot of some rinky-dink town we encountered.

"Columbus, I said _stop!_" she repeats, her voice now angry. "Can you stop playing with my hair?"

"I'm not doing anything!" I retort. Her eyes snap wide open. As she looks out her half-open window, she spots a pale, bloody hand hanging from the roof, reaching out to grab her. She screams.

"Shit!" I yell, fumbling my sawed-off double barrel. "Tallahassee!"

The cowboy merely stirs. What was up with heavy sleepers nowadays? Damn, I guess it is all up to—"Little Rock!" I shout.

The girl jumps up from her seat, screaming as she sees the zombie. Quickly, she raises her semi-automatic 12 gauge and fires off a couple shots, severing the arm, though injuring her own due to the recoil. From above, I hear the sounds of groaning and dismembered roaring. Initially, there is just one voice, but in mere seconds it was accompanied by two, and then three. The zombies were gathering, preparing to attack en masse. The zombie on our roof dropped dead, apparently dying from loss of blood.

"C'mon, we need to drive out of here!" I shout, to Wichita. Gesturing towards the sleeping Tallahassee, I add, "Wake him up!"

With haste, Wichita grabs a canteen of water and begins pouring it on the cowboy's face, effectively waking him.

"We need to go! We're under attack!" Wichita explains.

With no questions asked, Tallahassee straightens up, inserts the keys, and puts the pedal to the metal. The engine roars and the tires shriek as the car begins to pick up speed. Turning on the headlights, we spot a dozen zombies, wandering blindly through the dark. _Pathetic_, I think. Ever ruthless, Tallahassee runs them over, backing up for the required _double-tap_.

"That was close." I say with relief once we were a distance away from the town.

"No kidding." Wichita adds.

Turning to her sister, she asks if she is alright, to which Little Rock replies, "I think I broke my arm." She winces, clutching the proposed limb.

Wichita stoops forward. "Here let me see that."

Pulling up the girl's sleeve, she examines the injury. "It's just a bruise," she concludes, "You'll be fine." Turning to me, Wichita then asks, "Why didn't you fire your gun?"

Lifting my double-barrel, I say with shame, "I-uh, dropped it."

"Great. You're a genius." She says, rolling her eyes before turning forward once more. She is so beautiful when she implies that I'm an idiot. I smile.

You may be wondering, with this huge stash of guns at our disposal, why I chose my ancient double-barrel. Simple, I survived the beginnings of the zombie apocalypse with this thing and don't want to part with it. It's like one of those transition belongings from when you're no longer a kid, like a blanket, or a toy. It's just so hard to leave it behind.

Flipping open the folding near the shotgun's breech, I reach into my back pocket and retrieve two shotgun shells, which I promptly load into the barrel. I realize that even if I didn't drop my gun, it still would have been useless. A mistake I shouldn't make in the future. _And just in case I _do_ make that mistake again…_Flipping open my notes, I quickly jot down, "Rule Number 35: Keep guns loaded."

To compensate for whether I do forget that rule,I reach down to unzip our bag of guns. From inside, I extract two pistols: a Glock, and a semi-automatic .45 calibre SW1911 with installed grips.

Untrustworthy of the Glock's lack of safety, I throw it back into the bag and stick with the SW1911. I think that's what it's called. I'm never really good at identifying guns because, well, I didn't really need them until this whole zombie thing occurred.

In order to check if the gun is loaded, I press the button on the side of the grip, popping open the loader. It's empty. Rifling through the bag of guns, I retrieve the correct magazine and insert it into the loader. I decided not to fully arm it, in case it accidentally went off despite the fact that the gun had grip-safety.

"Not bad, I must say," I hear a voice comment. It was Tallahassee.

"Oh-uh, thanks." I reply.

"Where'd you learn to reload a gun?" he asks.

"I-um, kinda just improvised…" I explain, sheepishly.

"You could have gotten us killed but… That's pretty impressive." He nods his head in approval.

"Thanks."

Was that a compliment? That's… frightening. Tallahassee almost never compliments people. I guess I should be proud of myself. Taking the gun, I holster it at my hip, in case I needed it later. I hope I won't need it. Sure, I can load a gun, but firing it? No sir-ee.

"Where are we going now?" Little Rock asks with a yawn.

"We…" Tallahassee begins, "Are going to—holy shi-!"

I hear a pop and the car careens to its side, crashing into some unknown obstacle. The tinted glass on each of our windows breaks, and from outside, I hear air gushing out of our tires. On Little Rock's side, her door bends inward at an ugly angle, though she is unharmed yet breathing heavily. Wichita was similarly affected, as she suppressed the urge to scream. Tallahassee cursed, punching the steering wheel, setting off the horn.

"Is everyone alright? What the hell just happened?" I ask, panic creeping into my voice. "Are you g—"

"We're fine." says Wichita.

"It was the tires." Tallahassee explains, shaking his head. "We drove right over some tire spikes that the police musta laid out before the outbreak."

"We… Have spare ones, right?" Little Rock asks, looking worried.

"Nope." He answers, simply. Yup, we're screwed.


	4. Chapter 4: The Getaway

**Chapter 4: The Getaway**

This is great. This is _just _great.

"How do you forget to bring extra fucking tires!" I shout to Tallahassee. I'm normally not the kind of person who gets angry, but this is big.

"Didn't think we'd need 'em." He says, shrugging.

"Didn't think we'd nee—we're in a goddamn zombie apocalypse! Filled with sharp things that could not only kill _us_, but the tires too."

"Well, if you're such a smart-ass, why didn't _you_ pack the tires?"

"You told me not to! Somethin' about how since you're the badass, you get to pick what goes in the car."

He laughs. "Oh right, forgot about that."

Before I could retort, Little Rock comes in between us, her arms raised. "Guys, just calm down." She says. "Arguing won't help."

"She _is _right." Tallahassee points out.

I glare at him, then Little Rock, then Wichita. "Fine, I'll calm down." I grumble. "But we still should have brought extra tires." Shoulda, woulda, coulda. I had to admit, there really was no sense dwelling on the mistakes of the past. Doing so could get us all killed.

"So what do we do now?" I say, pacing around the wrecked SUV.

"We need to get moving, that's what." Wichita replies, her eyes watching both sides of the road. "I'm willing to bet that a whole rabble of flesh-eating zombies is coming our way right now."

"From which direction?" Little Rock asks.

"Could be north, could be south, could even be from the fields around us." Tallahassee answers.

"So, which way do _we_ go?" I query, though I know the answer.

"Well, since we're going to Canada, I guess we go north." Wichita says, shouldering her purse.

"Alright then," Tallahassee remarks "Get all the stuff you need, and let's go for a walk."

So we do just that. Since we have to travel light, we cannot bring our big ol' bag of guns-much to Tallahassee's dismay, so we are left choosing which firearms each of us wants to bring. I of course, have already chosen, having picked out my pistol, and refilled my Ziplock bag of shotgun shells. Wichita decides to stick with her own semi-automatic shotgun and pistol as well, while Little Rock settled for a lighter submachine gun. Tallahassee was a different story. He decided to load himself up real good. Holstered at his sides were two Uzis, and on his back, an M1 Carbine and a .45 calibre rifle along with the usual auto-loading shotgun at his thigh. In his bullet-proof vest, he stashed all the ammunition he needed. Hell, he even found a katana in the depths of that duffel bag, though, for the safety of us all, decided not to bring it along.

"Ya'll ready?" He asks, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Yeah, let's go." I say.

...

"So how far do you think we are from Canada?" Little Rock asks, after walking a good distance away from the wreckage. She shines her flashlight on the road ahead. It is deserted.

"Very far," I answer "It would take us forever to get there on foot."

After seeing the look of dismay on her face, I quickly add, "It would help improve our cardio though."

Wichita smiles, rolling her eyes, "Because everyone knows cardio is the most important thing in the world."

"Besides seatbelts, that is." I say.

"Of course, silly me." She adds

_Gurk!_ I stop. What the hell was that?

"Hold on. Did you guys hear that?"

"Hear what?" Wichita asks.

"Just listen."

_Gurk!_ There it was again, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. It was coming from—

"Behind us!" I shout, whirling around, shining the flashlight. Wichita, Tallahassee, and Little Rock do the same. It was just as I had suspected, zombies. A _lot _of zombies. Instinctively, we pull the triggers on our guns, mowing down the lot. I killed the least, as I had to reload after every two shots, and I'm willing to bet Tallahassee killed the most. I wonder if we should implement a scoreboard, just to see how many he gets.

"Was that all of 'em?" I ask no one in particular.

Tallahassee shakes his head, nearly throwing off the cowboy hat planted upon it. "These are just stragglers, and our gunshots have alerted the rest of the pack." As if on cue, a multitude of groans and shrieks pierce the night sky. I shine my flashlight down the back road. _Holy shit_ was the only thought that ran through my mind. The road—every square inch of it—was occupied by zombies, numbering in the hundreds.

"Sh-shall we take them on?" I stutter, my hands shaking.

Tallahassee steps back, eyes widening at the sheer enormity of the zombie army. "You know what," he says, "I think I'm a little tired today…"

"Run?" I ask.

"Yeah, run." And we do.

...

"Keep going!" I shout, running ahead of the group. Risking a turn, I see Little Rock straggling behind. Falling back a little, I grab her arm and pull her along. "Go!"

The zombies behind us were in full pursuit, their arms swinging like giant motors. Pointing my gun back, I fire, taking down a zombie that was getting dangerously close. Tallahassee was doing something different. He was running backwards, like one of those bad-ass movie guys that never go down. He had both of his Uzis in his hands and was constantly firing them, killing zombies in their dozens. Breathing heavily, I angle my flashlight towards the road ahead, trying to see the horizon. Instead of a deserted road, the beam of light shone upon yet another horde of zombies. It was at that moment that I had to suppress screaming like a frightened little girl.

"Turn!" I yell; my voice oddly high pitched. I sense Wichita about to ask why, but then figure an answer is not needed after hearing her say, "Shit."

"C'mon," she says, dragging her sister to the side of the road. She points at a forest. "Hurry, lets lose them in there.

Initially, I would have said "No freaking way!" as I'm a little—okay, _very_ afraid of dark forests. Something about those mangled tree branches just seems to get me, as if they were arms, waiting to pick me up and eat me. But, considering our current predicament, I decide to face my fear. To the forest I go! _Gulp._

"Go, go, go!" I shout, shakily. It was a downhill charge, and we start picking up speed, putting more distance between us and the now combined zombie forces. In a matter of seconds, we reach the forest, and run through its dark and muddy depths.

"Just keep going, "I hear Wichita pant.

Tallahassee, silent the entire time, fires off a couple rounds at any of the zombies that decide to follow us, killing about a dozen of them with razor-sharp accuracy. "Let's keep goin'," He says, running deeper into the forest. Soon enough, they lose track of us, and we lose track of them, which may not be good thing, considering where we are. I have a gut-wrenching feeling this forest is anything _but _safe.


	5. Chapter 5: Forest Gulp

**Chapter 5: Forest Gulp**

Alright, so we have no car, limited ammunition, about two hours worth of flashlight power, and a fucking army of zombies coming to eat us. If that doesn't equal 'Screwed', then I don't know what does. Oh right, I forgot to mention that we're wandering around in a *** forest, in the middle of the *** night. This couldn't get any worse now, could it?

"Great." I say, as we trudge across the wet, muddy, forest floor. I look up and see only the canopy. Not a single star could be seen behind its leafy expanse. "How are we supposed to know which way is north?"

"We don't." replies Tallahassee, his voice as calm as ever. I swear, if the Grim Reaper walked up to him right now to reap his soul, he'd probably laugh before kicking its ***. No fear at all.

"Okay, then what _do_ we do?"

"We just keep walkin' straight." He answers.

"Really? You're going to have us walk deeper into a forest we don't even know about?"

"Well, _duh_. If we're walking into the forest right now, once we get halfway through, we'd be walking _out_ of it."

"Of course. And what if the forest is longer than you assume it is?"

"Well… I never really thought of that." He chuckled.

For several minutes, we kept this up. Talking, bickering about who's right and who isn't. It was all pointless, really. Because no matter how much I argued, I think I'd much rather prefer a long dark forest to whatever was chasing us. Call me a hypocrite, but it's better to go with what you can see, rather than what you cannot.

"Alright, let's stop here." Wichita breathes, dropping her bag. We were now standing on a much firmer section of the forest floor. It was a small clearing, barricaded in a circular pattern by trees.

"This seems like a nice spot to set up camp." Little Rock observes, looking up at the looming trunks of the trees that surround us.

"Yeah," I begin "That's if we had a camp to set up in the first place…"

Wichita turns to me, suddenly. "You didn't bring the tent?" she asks, her voice urgent.

"No… I was under the impression that we had to travel light. It's even in my rulebook. And I thought we agreed that if we were ever to go camping, it would be Tallahassee that would bring the tent. "

Tallahassee raises an eyebrow. "Me?" He asks a mask of confusion on his face. "But I brought the water and food." To prove his statement, he lifts up a satchel filled with snacks and canteens.

"W-what?" Little Rock sputters, revealing her own collection of food and drinks. "But I thought _I _was supposed to bring those."

Wichita rolls her eyes. "No, no, no. _You _were supposed to bring the _supplies_."

"Um, I brought the supplies." I point out, though I probably shouldn't have, considering how stressful this all seemed to be.

Little Rock groaned. "What did y_ou_ bring?" She asks her sister.

"I brought the tinderbox and a few pots for cooking!" she replies, her tone frustrated.

Okay, this was getting out of hand. Things were becoming much worse than they were initially supposed to. Our predicament was bad enough, but now, we have no tent. We are stuck inside a scary forest, lost, and all we have is a tinderbox, pots for cooking, and twice as much food and water than we really need. Not that bad, huh? Wrong. We have no shelter at all to protect us from the elements or from the ravenous freaks that were still coming after us. We are now at the *** apogee of the wildlife survivalist's fail-meter.

"Alright," I begin, a little panicky, "We just need to calm down and start thinking straight." I pace back and forth, my chin cupped by my hand. "We have no shelter, right?"

"Yes, we know that," Wichita says bluntly "Get to the point."

Ouch. Someone's a little crabby. Not without reason though. If you were woken up in the middle of the night, forced on a long walk into a mean scary-looking forest, and told that you had nothing to sleep on, wouldn't you feel the same? I need to be sympathetic here. We are all feeling this way, I'm sure.

"So, just because we've got _one_ bad thing going against us, doesn't mean we should just stand around complaining about it."

"Actually," Little Rock interrupts, "We've got about a hundred bad things going against us." She nudges her thumb down the path we came from, obviously talking about the zombies.

"Yeah, yeah, just hear me out." I say, forgetting about our zombie predicament for a split-second. "I think we should build a fire."

"And let the zombies know exactly where we are?" Tallahassee asks, sceptically. "No sir-ee."

"Well, it's either that or we die from the cold. If you ask me, I'll take my chances with the zombies. We could use a night-watch system. Two sleep while the other two stand—or sit, whichever you prefer—on guard. We could do—like, two hour shifts or something."

"Well now that you mention the dying from the cold part… that's not such a bad idea…" Tallahassee says, nodding, slightly impressed. "Not bad for a spit-fuck."

"Yeah, uh—"I say, "Thanks."

"No problem… "he replies," Just as long as I get to sleep first." He adds, quickly.

"I—uh, actually thought we should let the girls sleep first. You know… courtesy and all that."

"No, it's cool." Wichita says, intervening. "Florida and my sister can sleep first. You and I can take the first shift. I'm already wide awake."

Hm, giving up two hours of my sleep to stay awake with Wichita and watch out for zombies? I can live with that. "Sure, "I say. "Let's start up the fire."

It did not take long to get a flame started as dry sticks were abundant in the area around us. And while we started the fire, Tallahassee and Little Rock went to work setting up a makeshift shelter of branches and leaves. For pillows, they used the bags of Wonderbread that we had brought along with us, figuring that it was the food we were less likely to eat. In little over thirty minutes, we were all set.

"Alright, so-uh, you two just go to bed, and—"I start, but Tallahassee cuts me off.

"Yeah, yeah. G'night." He says irritably, before rolling over in his makeshift cot, draping his snakeskin jacket around himself like a blanket. Someone's definitely tired.

"Goodnight, then." I say. Turning to Little Rock, I bid her a good night's sleep as well.

Once the two of them were snoring soundly, I crawl over to the fire, sitting cross-legged in its warmth. My shotgun lay next to me in case I needed it. Wichita did the same, sitting on the other side, with the fire separating us from each other. I try to catch her eye, but she seems to be preoccupied with the trees around us.

"So Wichita…" I start, unsure of what approach I'm going to take.

She looks at me. "Hm?" she says. "Is there something wrong?"

"No—uh, I was just wondering…"

"Wondering about what?" she inquires, her attention now fully focused on me.

I gulped, a bead of sweat rolling down from my temple before dripping off of my chin. "Have you ever thought about that night a few days ago? You know, at the amusement park when we ki—"

_Crack!_ The sound of a twig breaking from behind me wrenches me from my sentence. I yelp and quickly stand up, shotgun levelled at the expanse of trees before me. My finger was on the trigger, but my arm was shaking. I open the breach, verifying that the gun is loaded before quickly closing it. _Crack!_ It sounds a_ lot _like someone is walking towards us. Without taking my eyes off the source of the sounds, I hear Wichita walk to stand next to me, her pump-action shotgun at the ready. The cracking intensified, as whatever was within those dark depths got closer. Instinctively, my grip on the gun tightens as I prepare to pull the trigger. With my eyes trained on that section of the woods, I gasp as a figure walks out into the clearing, its arms raised in greeting. It was not a zombie. 


	6. Chapter 6: The Abercrombie Guy

**Chapter 6: The Abercrombie Guy**

"Hi guys!" the silhouetted figure says in a deep raspy voice that was very noticeably masculine. Its arms were raised in some stupid otherworldly greeting type of manner and its body was covered in various assortments of twigs, branches and leaves. It was like some kind of tree-man-person of some sort. However, it was not his—if it _is a "his", _appearance that disgruntled me, but the fact that someone other than us was alive. I didn't know whether to scream or jump for joy. I didn't have a chance to choose.

"Wassup?" the odd-looking stranger says, stepping forward.

"Stay back!" Wichita shouts, suddenly, levelling her shotgun's barrel towards the figure's head. Her raised voice causes both Little Rock and Tallahassee to stir in their sleeps, but not wake up them up indefinitely. Damn heavy sleepers. Why can't I sleep like that?

"Whoa, whoa, hold it tuts." The tree-man says, showing her his palms in a sort of _I'm not dangerous _kind of way. Wichita doesn't buy the gesture, as she fires off a shot at the floor in front of the tree-man. _Bang!_

"Holy shit!" He yelps, jumping back to avoid the spray of dust the shotgun shell caused. "What the hell was that for, eh?" In the distance, I could hear birds flying away, squawking a warning to those within the forest. This was not good.

"Guys!" I interrupt, looking wildly around at the darkness that surrounds us. "This is not the time to argue." To the tree-man, I point my gun. "Who the hell are you, first of all?"

At my inquiring, he removes his costume, which comes off pretty easily as it is more of a cloak. "I," He begins, as he reveals his true self, "am Abercrombie!"

My only response to this was _what the ***?_ Standing before us was an old man who _obviously _wanted to look a little younger. He had dusty black hair and a face with wrinkles so huge you could put several babies inside them. He wore tight-fitting jeans and a shirt that bore the logo of _Abercrombie and Fitch_. On his head was placed a curved hat much like a cowboy's but black in color with a greyish trim. His clothes clashed so much with his physical appearance that I had to laugh. He wasn't even wearing _shoes_. It's ridiculous, and this is coming from a guy who doesn't even care about clothes, much. From the corner of my eye, I could see Wichita cracking up as well.

"What'd you do," I begin, the corners of my mouth curving, "rob an Abercrombie store while the plague struck? Because if you did, you're kind of a bad robber…"

"No…"He protests, but it is pretty obvious that he is lying.

Wichita is not amused. She raises the gun higher, cocking back the loader. "You didn't answer his question." She states, stepping forward. "Who are you, really?"

The man looks confused. "I'm Aber-"

Wichita fires another shot. "We know who you are!" In the distance, a ruffling of tree leaves was heard this time. I look in that direction warily. I lick my finger. There wasn't any wind. "Guys…" I begin, but Abercrombie interrupts.

"Alright people," he starts, launching into his own personal biography. When he was finished, I was half asleep. Apparently this dude was a lonely single guy whose lifelong ambition was to survive an apocalypse. He got his wish. Check one on his list. He then decided that he couldn't stay cooped up in his dirty house so he escaped and for some miraculous reason, got through an entire horde of zombies completely untouched. The rest of his neighbourhood? Well, they got eaten. Check two on his list. He hated his neighbours. After that, he robbed an Abercrombie store and hid inside a forest. Check three.

I shook my head, despite knowing his story to be true. His survival was just as likely as the rest of ours. Besides, the more people we had, the higher the chance of survival. Screw the "safer when you're alone" bullshit. The more guns, the better.

"You do have a gun, right?" I ask him.

He nods, pulling a couple Colts from his belt. I smile, satisfied. "We better get out of here." I say, picking up my sleeping bag and supplies. The rest of the group does the same. "While you two were talking, I heard some rustling in the leaves which I found odd becau-"

_ROAR!_

I nearly jump out of my underwear. Without thinking, I run to the other side of the camp and stand next to Tallahassee, my gun raised. My hands went into traditionally quiver-with-fear mode. Tallahassee looks at me with disgust, before pulling out his shotgun. Abercrombie I saw, had a similar reaction to mine only he stood next to Little Rock. Poor guy. Wichita stood in the middle, her gun also raised. We sorta formed a pentagon of sorts.

Another roar was heard in the forest, followed by others. The zombies had found us. I loaded my gun. "C'mon you little ugly monsters. Let me get a piece of you!" I hissed. Tallahassee looked at me and laughed.

"You're going to run, aren't you?" he says. I nod.

"That's what I thought." He commented, shaking his head. I hear more rustling. Louder this time. I feel as if I need to go to the bathroom… Nevermind. I start hearing the groans. They were here. I squint at the openings in between the trees. I spot a zombie silhouette and fire at it. The zombie collapses. I laugh, enjoying my first kill. Turning to Tallahassee, I was about to gloat about my kill when all hell broke lose. A zombie horde numbering in at least one hundred broke through the clearing and charged. I looked at Tallahassee. He looked at me. We share glances with Little Rock and Wichita, and even the Abercrombie guy. We knew what we needed to do. At the same time and in unison… we ran away.


End file.
